


Moving

by AlessNox



Series: Starcrossed [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cohabitation, Eye Sex, F/M, Humor, Johnlock - Freeform, Kissing, Leather, Love, M/M, Oil, Restraints, Sadness, Sex, Verbal Abuse, bad language, chaotic emotions, hidden love, men acting like boys, nannying, strong emotions, whip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:11:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlessNox/pseuds/AlessNox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tells Sherlock that he is moving out of the apartment. Sherlock decides that he would do anything to make him stay, even if it means having sex. A post-Reichenbach Sherlock / John story with humor, dirty tricks, and true love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Breakfast Declaration

Sherlock Holmes perused the newspaper shaking it with a snap before turning the page. "Here it is," he exclaimed, "The New Rochelle embezzlement scheme, Joe Park got thirty-five years. That's another case in the bag."

"Good," John replied distractedly pushing his sausage so that it rolled from side to side on his plate. He glanced toward Sherlock who was completely concealed except for the curly mop of black hair peeking above the newsprint.

Sherlock's long fingers tapped the paper bending it in half as he peered over the top at John. "What is it?" he said.

"What do you mean ' _what is it?_ ' " John asked sitting back in his chair.

"You've obviously got something to tell me, so what is it?"

John shifted in his chair, blinking a bit and licking his lips before blurting out, "I'm moving out of the apartment. I'm going to move in with Mary."

Sherlock furrowed his brow. He carefully folded his paper placing it on the table. Then he focused all of his attention onto John's face as he asked, "Why?"

John avoided Sherlock's gaze running his fingers through his blond hair. "Mary and I have been talking. We want to become a little more serious in our relationship, and we've decided to move in together."

"I don't understand, " Sherlock said. "What can you possibly have living with Mary that you can't have with me?"

John stared back at Sherlock. "Are you serious?" 

"Of course I'm serious." 

John smirked, "Well frankly …sex."

"You could have sex in the flat," Sherlock countered. "Just give me some warning. I'll buy earplugs."

"No!" John said shaking his head, "I wouldn't like that. Besides, every time I bring a girl here you scare her away."

"Me? Nonsense. Don't blame your obvious inadequacies as a boyfriend on me."

"You ignored Alice, you insulted Jeanette, and … what do you mean ' _obvious inadequacies_ '?"

Sherlock brought his hands palm to palm as if in prayer and touched the tips to his lips. "If it's sex you need. I could give it to you," Sherlock said.

"Don't be ridiculous," John snorted.

"No, I'm serious. If that's the only reason that you plan to move out, I could get over my initial revulsion for such matters to … service you when you need it. No, you don't need to thank me."

John put his elbow on the table and leaned against his L-shaped fingers while he glared at Sherlock Holmes. He pursed his lips and exclaimed in an exasperated voice, "Even if I did believe that you meant what you just said, and I don't, I know that you must have heard me say this at least a hundred times. **'I am NOT gay!'** "

Sherlock waved the comment away with his hand. "Of course I've heard you say it. That doesn't mean that it's true."

John rose from the chair with a sigh, "Oh not you too? Don't you think that I would know if I were gay or not?"

Sherlock paused a moment in thought. "Possibly not. It is a testable hypothesis, however."

John threw up his hands, picked up his dishes, and put them into the sink. "Well I've told you now. I'll pay my share of the rent to the end of the month, but I plan to move out this Friday."

"Friday?" Sherlock said surprised, rising quickly to his feet. He glanced aside, walked over to his chair, and sat down.

John took his coat from the rack and put it on. He turned to stare at Sherlock who sat with his hands steepled against his lips. "I don't like that look."

Sherlock glanced up at him. "What look?"

"That look." John said pointing, "You look like you're thinking." 

"What's wrong with thinking?" Sherlock asked, "I often think, I like to think."

"You shouldn't be thinking like that when you're not on a case."

Sherlock put down his hands, "I may not have a case," he said, "but I do have a problem."

John shook his head and left the room. "Nothing good will come of this," he mumbled as he clattered down the stairs.

 


	2. Full Frontal Assault

Sherlock was not in the living room when John returned from work that evening. He hung up his coat and poured himself a glass of milk which he drank as he walked toward his desk. Tonight he would blog about the New Rochelle embezzlement scheme, but what was he to call it? ' _The money launderers?'_ _'The case of the purloined pictures?'_ John opened his laptop to see on the screen a video of two naked men going at it in a pool closet.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, "Why is there gay porn on my laptop?"

Sherlock came in from his room carrying his own laptop connected to a rope of colored wires tipped with little white circles. "Oh good you're home," he said, and then proceeded to stick the circles one by one to John's head.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"Testing an hypothesis," he said as he completed sticking all of the electrodes in place. Sherlock looked at a complex display on his screen and then with one hand he pushed the button to restart the video on John's laptop. "Just watch the screen." he said.

John watched as one man went up and down on the other man, he was about to turn away when the man did something extremely kinky with a hose. John's mouth fell open. "Interesting," Sherlock said tapping on his keyboard with one hand.

John closed the laptop, and pulled on the cables peeling the electrodes off of his head and taking some skin and hair with them. "Enough of this," he said, "I plan to take a shower, watch some telly and go to bed. YOU! Get this off of my laptop." Then John left for the bathroom and took his shower.

Later, a much more relaxed John Watson stepped out of the bathroom in his old striped robe drying his head with a towel. The towel obstructed his view as he walked through the kitchen, so that it was only after he entered into the living room that he noticed Sherlock Holmes standing across the room completely naked.

"What's this then?" he asked.

Sherlock stared at John with a fierce intensity. He paced toward him coming so close that his nose butted up against John's forehead.

John glanced up curiously at his lips straight, neutral, and parted slightly, his eyes widened and softened, his eyebrows slightly raised. Sherlock reached a hand out to cup the side of John's head tilting it up as he kissed him full on the lips.

It was a rough kiss. His lips opened and closed sucking at John's like one might suck worriedly at a knuckle. There was no hint of tongue. John stood still in shock as Sherlock kissed him, only then realizing that doing nothing was doing something. John turned and shuffled back several steps. He tripped over the edge of the table landing heavily on the couch.

Sherlock was beside him in an instant. "Are you alright?" he asked concerned.

John nodded conscious of the feel of Sherlock's hand on his shoulder. Another hand lay on his stomach steadying him. It slowly moved down his leg and slid under his robe.

"Steady on!" John yelled before a touch on his thigh forced a shock that made him jump. Sherlock pushed him back down. His expert hands rubbed John up and down with a rapidity that took his breath away. John became erect hard and fast.

Sherlock opened John's robe with his other hand, and pinched his nipple so hard that John bobbed from the intensity of it. He rubbed his free hand along John's body worrying his areolae with his fingertips.

Suddenly John knew the answer to a question that he had wondered about but never felt able to ask. 'Does Sherlock Holmes masturbate?' The answer must be YES! No one could be this skilled without practice. Sherlock had a talent. His firm motion made it impossible for John to speak. Almost impossible for him to breathe. His strokes were overwhelming, his caresses an art form.

John bobbed up and down on the couch his mouth open and panting while Sherlock drove him to a higher and higher state of excitement. He tried to protest, but the only sounds that came from his mouth were a series of high-pitched moans. He tried to move, but the motion of his hips only seemed to amplify Sherlock's strokes, driving him closer and closer to ecstasy.

John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's shoulder. He meant to tell him to stop, to say that this was misguided and unnecessary, but part of him, most of him in fact, did not want Sherlock to stop. As Sherlock moved his hand up and down in a deep and steady motion, John's breath became more and more shallow, his head bouncing with every ragged breath.

"Please..." was all that he got out seconds before he ejaculated a stream of sperm that arched over his chest like a fountain. John shuddered and called Sherlock's name over and over as he pumped the last of the sperm from him in a motion like the ratcheting of a shotgun, then John sagged into the couch spent.

Sherlock reached up lifting John's towel which was still on his shoulder and using it to dry his hands. Then he wiped John's chest sweeping up the sperm with an S-shaped motion that felt sensual despite the sharp efficiency of his movement. Sherlock rose to put the towel in the bathroom hamper leaving John open and exposed to the air, and to his thoughts.

John lay dazed wondering, _"What was that? What just happened?"_ Sherlock had played him as expertly as he played his violin, coaxing an orgasm from him with such speed and so little effort that John wondered at himself. Am I gay? Do I find Sherlock attractive?

It was true that John had noticed how sweet Sherlock's boyish face looked when he felt the first flush of joy in a new case. He had touched Sherlock's smooth waist, and admired how well-cut his suits were. Once or twice, he had wondered how Sherlock would have looked as a girl, and he knew that if Sherlock had been female then John would definitely fancy her. But this ... this was all too strange.

As John's strength slowly returned, he pulled his robe together and sat up. Sherlock came back wearing his purple robe. He sat in the chair across from John with a self-satisfied look on his face. John crossed his legs. He meant to tell Sherlock that this had been wrong, and that he should not have violated John's privacy this way, but what he actually said was, "I'll have to take another shower."

"I suppose now you are convinced," Sherlock said smirking," If it is sexual pleasure that you want, I am able to give it to you when you need it. Shall I get your phone so that you can call Mary?"

"No!" John cried. The last thing he wanted to talk to Mary about was this experience. He resolved then never to tell her about it. "Sherlock," John began, "This was...frankly this was amazing. I never expected...not in a million years, but this is the last time. No one ever need know that you... that we..." John's voice petered out as he remembered that just a minutes ago he was arched and screaming under the hand of his male flat-mate.

"I don't understand," Sherlock said frowning, "You told me this morning that you wanted to leave me because I could not give you sex. That you would get no pleasure having sex with me. We have proved that this hypothesis is false. The corollary follows that you should remain with me here."

"Sherlock," John said, "It's not that simple. I hope that this is something that we can put behind us, that won't harm our friendship." John stood and walked to the bathroom to take a second shower. Then he went straight up to his room and locked the door.

Alone in his room, John tried to get to sleep. He touched himself as he often did before going to bed only to remember the feel of Sherlock's hands on his smooth skin. He knew that it would be a long time before he could look at Sherlock Holmes again without thinking of it. Without wanting him to do it again.


	3. Held back

The next morning John woke early and left the house quietly in order to avoid seeing Sherlock. A night's sleep had been unable to resolve his confusion. Thankfully, work kept John's brain occupied most of the day. It was only during lunch, and tea breaks that he found his mind full of thoughts of Sherlock.

After a day's work, however, John had almost convinced himself that it was simply his surprise at Sherlock's actions that had caused him to react as he did. It wasn't that men ' _turn him on_ '. It wasn't that he was attracted to Sherlock Holmes either. It's simply that when someone is stimulated... in that way, the body just reacts. There are no...preferences involved.

The phone rang and he jumped.

"Hello lover," the voice said.

"Who is it?" John asked nervously.

"It's Mary of course. Who else would call you _lover_?"

"Yes, of course, sorry Mary. It's a bit loud in here. Let me go into my office." John closed his office door and took a deep breath before continuing.

"So, how did it go with Sherlock?" she asked.

"What?" John snapped nervously.

"You did tell him that you were moving?"

"Yes, yes," he replied.

"So what did he say? He didn't do anything strange did he?"

"Uhh..." John stammered suddenly flashing to the image of Sherlock leaning forward to kiss him.

"He doesn't want you to go," Mary said calmly.

"No," John responded, "but Mary, don't worry. He'll come around. It will just take a little time."

"Do you think that we should postpone the move?" Mary asked with concern in her voice.

"No of course not Mary. I'll go by the movers tomorrow with the rest of the details, and we'll spend Saturday together unpacking just as we agreed."

"Good," she said, "Now I'll be out of town all evening and most of tomorrow visiting my Aunt in Dover, but I will be back. I'm going to miss you, but I'm looking forward to that homecoming."

"Me too. Have a good trip," John said smiling.

"I will. Love you John."

"Love you too, Mary."

"Always." Mary said, and then disconnected.

John's smile grew.

  


It was with a spring in his step that John walked through the door of 221B Baker Street that evening. He passed Mrs Hudson at the entrance. "Going out, Mrs Hudson?" he asked turning to look down at her from the stairwell. "Why so serious?"

"I have a bridge competition tonight," Mrs Hudson replied, "Mrs Turner and I plan to beat that scheming Mrs Jones this time. We've broken their code. She always mentions tea when she's got spades. I plan to win if it takes us all night. We'll see who gloats tomorrow. Don't wait up. "

"Good luck Mrs Hudson," John said chuckling as he locked the door behind her.

John took the stairs two at a time only stopping as he was about to open the door. He stood on his toes, one hand inches from the doorknob wondering what would greet him on the other side. An image of Sherlock standing topless with tassels attached to his nipples flashed into his mind making him smile. Whatever happened, he could take it. He turned the doorknob.

The view that greeted him was one of complete ordinariness. The kitchen table was cluttered with another one of Sherlock's experiments, while Sherlock sat in his chair, his face engrossed in a book titled Paralytic Drugs of South-East Asia.

John smiled as he entered hanging up his coat. "Good evening Sherlock," he said.

Sherlock mumbled a reply, then he asked, "John, would you mind pouring me a glass of milk?"

John looked inside of the refrigerator, pleased to find that there were no body parts inside. He pulled out the milk carton and poured a glass for Sherlock and another one for himself. "You bought fresh milk. That's good." John chortled as he brought the glass over to sit it on the table beside Sherlock. John took a sip. " And don't think that just because you've become a little more conscientious of your flatmate responsibilities that it changes my mind about leaving." John finished off his glass and placed it down on the table beside Sherlock's full one. "I thought that you wanted some milk."

Sherlock looked up at John putting his book down on the table. "You can have my milk if you are still thirsty," Sherlock said.

John swayed. He put his hand on the back of the chair to steady himself. "Oh! I felt a bit woozy for a moment there," he said, before looking down to see Sherlock's eyes examining him closely, too closely. Then it clicked. He read the title again, Paralytic Drugs of South-East Asia. "Sherlock!" he demanded , "What...what have you ..." Then his legs gave way and he collapsed onto the floor unconscious.

  


When John awoke, he was lying in Sherlock's bed. When he tried to get up, he noticed that his wrists and ankles were restrained by leather straps which had been tied to the legs of the bed. John pulled against the straps shaking the bed, only then noticing that he was naked.

John lay back on the bed, his mouth a hard line. _"This time,"_ he thought, _"I'm going to kill him."_ Then John barked at the top of his lungs, "SHERLOCK! Get me out of these things right now!"

The door creaked open and Sherlock clanked in. He was wearing heavy leather boots with chain straps, tight leather pants closed by a double set of metal buttons, No shirt, and a leather driver's cap. In one hand he held a whip. He walked slowly and ominously into the room until he stood at the end of the bed. Then he pointed the butt of the whip at John and said, "John Watson, you have been a very, very bad boy."


	4. Memories of Pain, Moments of Pleasure

John Watson stared at Sherlock. He was shocked. Nothing could have prepared him for Sherlock Holmes in clothes that made him look like the demonstrator in an S and M sex shop. Then suddenly, the reality of it caused him to erupt into a huge laugh. He rolled side to side giggling hysterically until a fit of coughing took him.

Sherlock dropped the whip and rushed over to the bed to see if he was alright. The sight of him up close was almost too much for John and he began to laugh again. Sherlock patted his back to keep him from choking. Finally, John stopped laughing. He took deep breaths to steady himself while Sherlock stared down at him with worried eyes. "I take it you don't like the outfit," Sherlock said, " It doesn't ... _turn you on_?"

John shook his head smiling slightly, "Sherlock, you look ridiculous," he said. "Where did you get those clothes?"

"I bought them." 

"I hope you still have the receipt," John said stifling another giggle. "How did you find them? I can't imagine that it's the sort of thing that they sell at the places you usually shop."

"I got help from Kate Cooper." 

"Kate who?" 

"She's an associate of Irene Adler. Lestrade suggested that I might need to take extreme measures to get your attention."

"Lestrade?"

"Actually Lestrade told me NOT to do anything extreme, and that's how I knew that he thought that something like this might work."

"You talked to Lestrade about us?"

"I was out of my depth. I needed advice on romance. Molly suggested flowers, chocolate and begging, but it isn't really my style, and you don't like chocolate that much."

"You talked to Molly too? God! This is embarrassing." John said. "Why are you doing this?"

"I thought that it was obvious. Yesterday was not sexually stimulating enough to convince you to stay. Kate said that this would be incredibly stimulating. Are you ready to begin?"

"God no Sherlock!" John sighed, "Unstrap me."

"First tell me that you aren't moving." 

"I can't do that." 

"Then I can't let you up," Sherlock said standing and walking across the room to retrieve his whip.

John pulled furiously against his straps. "When I get out of here, Sherlock, I'm going to show you how that whip is really used."

"Maybe you just need some time to relax," Sherlock said walking toward the door.

"Wait! Sherlock!" Sherlock stood, one hand on the doorknob looking away into the living room. "Please Sherlock," John said, "come back."

When Sherlock spoke again, his voice sounded rough and low. "Why?" he asked. "I can tell that you haven't changed your mind."

"Sherlock, I'm sorry. Come back and talk to me," he implored. Sherlock stiffened for a moment and then, as if a balloon had been deflated, his shoulders dropped and he turned. The bed shook with his weight as he sat down looking at John.

"This IS ridiculous isn't it?" Sherlock said his lips down-turned.

"Yes," John said, "But I must say that you look fetching in that hat."

Sherlock began to laugh, and the two of them guffawed shaking the bed. John and Sherlock stared into each others eyes and smiled. Then Sherlock leaned over and untied John's hands and feet. John rubbed his wrists, and stood beside Sherlock. Then he punched Sherlock hard on the jaw so that he crashed to the floor, the chains on his boots jangling with the impact.

Sherlock looked up at him, surprise and hurt on his face, but John reached out a hand and pulled Sherlock back up to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. "You deserved that one Sherlock, for drugging me. Whatever possessed you?"

Sherlock took off the cap and placed it on the floor. "It was the logical next step. I had to convince..."

"It was not logical. It was extreme, even for you," John remarked, " This can't have been easy for you. You told me yourself. You despise emotions. You can't stand being out of control. I know that you have virtually no sex drive. Christ! If Irene Adler couldn't get you into bed, and I know she tried, then nobody could. So what's with all this? Why go to such extremes for me?"

Sherlock's head shot up and he stared at John. His lips barely apart. His eyebrows slightly raised. He stared without saying a word.

John stood up and paced across the floor. "I suppose that I should find my pants. Where are they?"

"John," Sherlock began clenching his hands nervously, "I did this because ...if truth be told, I've become quite attached to you. Our partnership is professionally, and personally beneficial to myself, and I thought that you also found it so. And, I discovered that ...just the thought of you leaving me is enough to cause me extreme distress even to the point of physical pain."

John shook his head. "I'm sure that you're exaggerating."

"No, feel it." Sherlock said grabbing John's hand and placing it against his abdomen. John could feel Sherlock's stomach muscles clenching tightly. Only then he noticed that Sherlock had oiled his chest.

"You need to relax," John said sitting down beside Sherlock and rubbing his shoulders, "You're blowing this all out of proportion. You can get on fine without me."

"No I can't." Sherlock said turning away from him.

"Yes, you bloody well can!" John said his voice becoming angry. "You left me well enough alone when you did that bloody stunt on the rooftop."

A silence fell. The atmosphere was charged as if a storm cloud had filled the room with negative ions. John glared angrily at Sherlock, finally getting out of his chest the anger that he had harbored since Sherlock had returned.

"John," Sherlock began, "I didn't know that you were still angry."

"You didn't?" John snapped getting up to pace the room again. "Oh, so much for the skills of the great detective. So you get a little _upset_ when I speak of leaving you. Your stomach _clenches_. Perhaps you feel a bit of _anxiety_ about how your work will suffer without your boy Friday around to help you. Oh, how sad for you.

"Where was your concern for me when I thought that you were dead? What about my pain? Did you ever stop to think about how often I woke up in a cold sweat seeing your bloody skull smashed on the pavement? Did you think about how night after night I cried myself to sleep because you were gone and were never coming back? Did you think that when you walked into that door you'd simply erase the months and months of sorrow that I had felt, that YOU let me feel?

"One phone call, just one, a text message even, just some hint that you were alive, it would have given me hope. Stopped me from feeling a pain that I thought would surely kill me.

"You, of all people, should have understood. When Irene faked her death, you were broken up about it. I told her that I would hunt her down if she didn't tell you that she was alive, because I didn't want you to feel the pain of losing her. But you obviously didn't feel concern enough to want to ease my pain. You didn't have any problem living without me then."

Sherlock breathed in sharply. He rose from the bed and walked over to John taking his hands and kneeling as he implored him, "John" he said, "I wanted to tell you. Every day I wanted to tell you. I watched you. I knew you were in pain, but others were watching you too. If you had acted differently. If you even hinted that I was still alive, then your life would be in danger. Until I had Moran behind bars, I couldn't even give you a hint. I wanted to. You must believe me. You must."

John dropped Sherlock's hands and walked over to the bed throwing himself face down on it. He had begun to relive those days when Sherlock was gone. He wanted to blot it all out of his head. He covered his ears and closed his eyes.

Then John felt long-fingered hands tenderly cover his own pulling them away from his ears. The bed shook as Sherlock lay beside him turning John's head toward him so that they were face to face.

Then slowly, quietly Sherlock began to tell him everything that had happened while he was on the rooftop with Moriarty. He had said it before, but this time he added how he had felt when he knew that John might die. The despair that gripped him when he thought that the angry words of their quarrel might be the last ones between them. And when he realized that Moriarty could call off the killers, he knew that he would do anything, ANYTHING to make sure that John was safe.

"Because," Sherlock confessed looking deeply into John's eyes, "I realized that I didn't want to live in a world without you."

John stared at Sherlock who lay beside him, his eyes glinting with unshed tears. He reached out and touched his cheek that was beginning to redden from John's punch. He observed his dark curly hair, his straight almost expressionless slightly-parted lips, his eyebrows raised, his eyes wide and soft. It was, John realized, an expression of pure love.

Suddenly John remembered that he had seen this face before: In the lab when Sherlock had asked him his opinion on those damned trainers, and again at breakfast in Baskerville. In fact, he had seen Sherlock look at him this way dozens of times.

John remembered when he had first seen this expression. Sherlock had looked at him this same way at the end of their very first case together. He had stared across the parking lot at John with that strange neutral expression, and John had thought nothing of it.

But listening to Sherlock talk, looking closely into Sherlock's eyes. His feelings were obvious. Could it have been that all this time, when John had thought that Sherlock was cold and heartless, he had been in love with him?

John was supposed to be the one who saw emotions that Sherlock could not. How could he not have known? How could he have missed this? And suddenly he realized that everyone else had known, absolutely everyone. Even the CIA agents had known that Sherlock loved him. That's why they had threatened John and not Irene Adler.

Suddenly the hard icy core of anger that John had held in his heart because of Sherlock's supposed betrayal melted away. He looked into those eyes and knew that Sherlock had always trusted him, had always wanted to protect him, had always loved him.

"I've been such a fool." John said, and taking Sherlock's face in his two hands he pulled him forward and tenderly kissed him.

John ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls, then he smiled to see Sherlock's closed eyes as he ran a finger across his quivering lips. John frosted Sherlock's lips with several slow, small kisses before rolling him onto his back and thrusting his tongue deep between Sherlock's teeth.

Sherlock reached up haltingly, hesitatingly and held John who continued to kiss him deeply exploring his mouth with the tip of his tongue. Their two tongues slid past each other while John tickled the roof of Sherlock's mouth until he coaxed a smile out of him.

John raised himself up on his elbows and looked down at Sherlock's fragile face. Sherlock was shaking. A tiny tear balanced precariously on the edge of his high cheekbone before sliding down the side of his face. He was beautiful.

Then John stopped and looked at where he was. Naked, on top of a half-dressed virgin. Who shivered at his every touch. Sherlock was a man, not a woman, but he loved him and had always loved him since the day that they had met. John knew that the sane thing was to get up off of the bed and put his clothes on, but what would happen to Sherlock then? Sherlock who was so afraid of relationships that he had lived to his thirties without ever having a friend. Sherlock who had loved him for years and never had the courage to tell him so.

If John left him now, Sherlock's heart would close up like a clam. He would never let it out again, and he could never grow into the man that he should become. John tilted his head to the side examining Sherlock's boyish face, the long smooth line of his neck, his thin figure. He looked up again and saw doubt and fear begin to form on Sherlock's face. John could see loss and pain and hardness passing like clouds across Sherlock's features and he couldn't bear it. He loved Sherlock too much to cause him pain.

Suddenly, John began to cry as he hadn't cried since Sherlock had returned. Sherlock's expression softened as he forgot himself and reached up with his hands to wipe away the tears. John smiled and pulled Sherlock into his embrace holding him tightly. Clutching for the first time the man who had been the closest thing to his heart for so long.

He held Sherlock tightly letting all of the anger and tears wash out of him. All of the days of regret, and anger, and sorrow passed into nothing, because Sherlock was here in his arms. He was his and had always been his. And always would be his. How could John not have known that a love like this was forever? It was obvious. He could almost hear Sherlock's voice in his head saying _'as ever you see but do not observe.'_ He laughed and the mixture of tears and laughter shook him, hollowing out his chest until all fear and pain and doubt were gone.

Sherlock held onto John clutching him as though he were a branch that kept Sherlock from sinking. He rode the waves of John's desperate shudders not knowing what to do. Only knowing that for once in his life he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Then John sat up pulling Sherlock with him. John kissed Sherlock's cheek, and smiled at him warmly. Sherlock stared open-mouthed, frozen in a pose of surprise and wonder. John's smile widened.

"Sherlock?" John asked running his finger across Sherlock's brow and down his arm, "Is this what you want to do? Because Jeanette was right, I will do anything for you. And even though I'm not attracted to men, I love you, and if this is really what you want, I'll show this 'virgin' what real lovemaking feels like."

Sherlock's eyes widened. He breathed in deeply and thought. _'I am a man of reason. Feelings mar the intellect. They are distracting. My feelings for John have already caused great upheavals in my life. If I go forward with this act, my feelings for John might become even stronger. But how is that possible? Now I feel so strongly that I am afraid that I will shatter at his touch. That another kiss will cause me to shake apart. I've always felt emotions too deeply, that's why it is better to have none._

_'Then again, if John walks out of this room now, what is the chance that such a situation would happen again. The odds are amazingly low, perhaps non-existent. This may be my only chance to experience love with the only person who matters to me._

_'Yet I calculate that this will probably not be enough to make John stay. Given John's preference for women, his need to appear manly, and my own general unwillingness to be touched most of the time, I calculate that the statistical probability that John will leave Mary and remain with me is only about 32%._

_'Given this probability, and Mary's stated desire for a traditional monogamous marriage, the odds of having another physical encounter are increasingly small. This is the last chance, the only chance. John is a man of his word. If I ask him to stop, he will stop and walk out that door never mentioning this encounter again._

_'But at this moment, I feel that if he leaves me now the world will crack apart. Even if it means that I will never see John again, even if it means that our relationship will be irreparably changed, I can't let him go. I want John. I want him more than I have ever wanted anyone or anything in my entire life.'_

All of these thoughts passed through Sherlock's mind in the time it took for John's perfect eyelashes to blink twice.

"Do you want to, Sherlock?" John asked. His voice deep and dripping like honey.

"Yes," Sherlock replied, "Oh God yes!" and with that, John leaned forward and kissed him.


	5. Beethoven's Romance No. 2

The next morning, John woke to the sound of violin music. Sherlock's playing was amazingly passionate today. The soaring high notes reminded John of the the soaring emotions that had filled him last night. He remembered, beneath his still closed eyelids, the look on Sherlock's face when he had cried open-mouthed in joy. John's breathing deepened. His lungs rose and fell as he remembered how Sherlock's excitement had inflamed his own until he had felt that his chest would burst. Emotions so strong that his vision had turned completely white. _'Now I know why they say that heaven is white'_ , John thought, _'because that was as close to heaven as anything that I have ever felt'._ Listening to the music rising and falling John remembered their rising and falling bodies and kisses sweeter than champagne. John's eyes fluttered open.

John sat up to find that he was in Sherlock's bed. He was still completely naked, but someone had tucked the sheets warmly around him, and his clothes were neatly stacked on a chair. There was no sign of any of the stranger implements of last night: The whip. The boots. The oil. They had been packed away. John admired how neatly Sherlock kept his room. He was no where near so tidy despite his military training. The music stopped.

John smiled. Then he frowned. Then he smiled again. The door opened and Sherlock came in with a breakfast tray. He was wearing a purple shirt and trousers. He was also wearing a broad grin. "I had to fix it myself," Sherlock said, "Mrs Hudson had a bit of a late night. She didn't come in until after two." Sherlock put the tray over John's lap and then leaned over to give him a peck on the lips. The smile on his face almost robbed John of his resolve. "Did you like the music? _Beethoven's Romance No. 2._ I rarely play it, but today the muse spoke so I..."

John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand to get his attention. "Sherlock" he began, "I have to talk to you... about last night."

"There's no need," Sherlock said, "I already know what you are going to say."

"No you don't," John said seriously, "Last night was … I don't have words to describe it. It was a moment that can never be forgotten. I was... we were...but that's not what I meant to say. What I meant to tell you was that despite last night, despite everything that has gone on between us..."

"You still plan to move out of the flat," Sherlock said, " I know."

A puzzled expression crossed John's face, and Sherlock reached out to caress his cheek. John's vision went white around the edges for a second. He gazed up at Sherlock's soft eyes and straight open lips and he wanted to kiss them. He wanted to pull Sherlock down on top of him, and run his fingers through his hair. John shook his head and bit his lip. "Yes, It's true." John said, "I am still moving out. How did you know?"

"Because I know you John," Sherlock said, "You must have promised Mary that you would tell me you were leaving. You probably said something like, ' _Don't worry about old Sherlock, he'll come around.'_ I'm sure that she's waiting patiently for you to call her to tell her that you're coming no matter what Sherlock says."

"So you do understand," John said surprised, "You don't mind me moving?"

"Of course I mind! I don't want you to go."

"Really, I thought that you understood?" Then John became thoughtful, "Wait sherlock. What is it you plan to do?"

"I thought that I would try Molly's plan next," Sherlock said, and then his face fell. "Don't you like me anymore, John?" he asked, "didn't last night mean something to you?"

John felt as if Sherlock had ripped out his guts with a metal claw. Even though he knew that Sherlock was manipulating him, even though he had seen Sherlock pop out tears to convince a woman to talk to him only to be dry eyed a moment later, it didn't stop the visceral reaction that hit John's gut when he looked at him that way.

But John Watson had resolve. He straightened his chin and ignored Sherlock. He began to eat the bacon and eggs on his plate. They were surprisingly good. "This is good," he said turning to face Sherlock and he crashed into Sherlock's heartbreakingly love-lorn expression. Sherlock's puppy dog eyes were on the point of tears, his thin lips down-turned. John wanted to reach over and give Sherlock a hug. But he pursed his lips and turned his head away. Finishing chewing his bacon before saying. "How long do you plan to continue this show?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said his voice low and cracking,"Is it working?"

John hung his head and moved toward the edge of the bed. He lifted his tray and placed it on the dresser. Then noticing that he was still naked he sat back down on the bed covering himself with the sheet. Sherlock offered him his own blue robe to wear, and John took it tying the strap around him before sitting down again. Sherlock sat beside him on the bed. Last night they had sat side by side exactly so. John had to close his eyes for a moment because he had an overpowering urge to lean over and kiss Sherlock.

John put his face in his hands. The emotions that he was feeling were totally unexpected. He had written a little script in his head to say to Sherlock. He was going to say, _'I'm really not gay Sherlock. Last night happened because I had a desire, a need to tell you how much I feel for you. But I have other things that I want to do with my life. Things that I can't do with you. Like start a family.'_ He started to speak, "Sherlock, last night happened because..." and then he turned and looked at Sherlock's face. John was overpowered by his emotions. Something had changed last night. He didn't understand himself.

Sherlock had lowered his head and turned it to peer at John who was hiding his face. Why? What was bothering him? John started to talk, "Sherlock, last night happened because..." then he froze and just looked into Sherlock's questioning eyes.

Sherlock tried to read John. His hair was tousled from having just risen. His eyes still containing some dried sleep. Egg crumbs on the edge of his mouth. His hands curled as if about to clutch something. He was upset. Sherlock knew that he should do something. This what what people did when they cared about someone. When the other person felt bad they did something to fix it. How could Sherlock fix John if he didn't know what was wrong?

Emotions were so much trouble to deal with. So Sherlock thought, what would John do if Mary looked at him the way that John is looking at me now? Sherlock reached out, putting his arm around John and hugging him to his side. His left hand held John's head against his shoulder, and he lay his cheek on top of John's hair. He had seen this very posture before in a painting, a posture of comforting. Sherlock could never understand how so many people knew instinctively what to do in such a situation. He had always envied John that skill. With a touch or a tone of voice he could defuse a situation that was about to explode. Sherlock had to reason it out every time, but he had reasoned correctly this time because John reached his arm around Sherlock's waist and turned further into his embrace. John always was able to surprise him. Sherlock had not expected his docility. Sherlock recalculated the odds that John would stay to be about 46 percent. He was gaining. Sherlock risked a small smile.

John didn't understand himself. Yesterday he had known what he was going to say, but now, looking at Sherlock, all of those arguments became muddled in his head. Sherlock reached out and held him to his chest, and John wrapped his arms around him as he had yesterday when he let go of his anger.

John realized that part of the reason that he had decided to move in with Mary had been to escape that anger that he had felt whenever he was with Sherlock. Now that it was gone, he wondered if his reasoning was sound. Wrapped in Sherlock's arms, moving didn't seem to make sense anymore. But John knew better than to change his mind without looking at all the facts. In a situation where ones emotions were compromised, one went on with the plan.

John pushed himself away from Sherlock and brushed off a tear. Swallowing to clear his throat, John said, "Thanks, I needed that." Sherlock's eyes studied him with rapt attention. This was John's chance to say his speech. He said, "I'll be going out. I need to talk to the movers to give them details. I'll be back later this evening."

"Okay, that will be fine," Sherlock said.

John wondered at Sherlock's gentle acceptance of his mentioning the movers. Did he know something that John did not? This seemed likely, because John did not know at this moment if he wanted to go, or if he wanted to push Sherlock down on the bed and ravish him. Actually, he knew exactly which one he wanted to do, and this is what disturbed him. It wasn't in John's self image to be the kind of person who wanted to attack Sherlock sexually. It wasn't right somehow. It was a good thing that he was seeing the movers today. John felt that the more time that he spent around Sherlock, the less like his old self he would be.

He nodded his head and then stood up, "I'll be going," he said and started to leave only to find that Sherlock had taken his hand. He turned and stared down into Sherlock's eyes. In this light they were the palest green. John couldn't turn away from them. He physically could not.

John couldn't tell how many moments had passed since he had stood. His hand had begun to sweat. He looked away and Sherlock rose so that he had to look up to gaze into his eyes. Then Sherlock bent down and kissed him softly, hesitantly on the lips. John's stomach muscles clenched and he found himself becoming hard. He closed his eyes waiting, longing for the next kiss that didn't come.

"Have a safe trip," Sherlock said and walked out of the room.

John opened his eyes just in time to see Sherlock close the door. His heart was racing in his chest. He had to give himself a moment to cool down before he could decently leave the room to get ready to go.

 


	6. Handled

John adjusted his coat as he stood on the doorstep of 221B Baker Street before walking down the sidewalk. He was on his way to the office of the movers to make the final arrangements for Friday's move. After turning the corner, John noticed a black car was pacing his steps. He turned to look as the window rolled down to reveal Mycroft Holmes. John sighed.

"Hello Mycroft," John said not slowing his pace, "I have nothing to say to you today."

"Ah, but I have something to say to you," Mycroft began, "Get into the car, John."

John stopped. The car stopped. John turned and stared at Mycroft, Sherlock's powerful brother who wouldn't hesitate to sell anyone out if it was in the country's best interests. They had hardly seen each other since that last argument before Sherlock's 'suicide'. Something like shame had seemed to keep Mycroft away, but maybe it was simply that John wasn't needed anymore. "I don't have time to fuck with you today, Mycroft," John said and began to walk again. The car kept pace.

"Interesting choice of words," Mycroft called after him, "I see that your relationship with Sherlock has finally progressed to the next level."

John halted and turned saying, "How could you..." only then realizing that his actions had just confirmed it to Mycroft who smiled knowingly. John didn't like the look of that smile. He continued walking.

"I can see by your walk that there has been no anal penetration. At least not of you, but by you? I'll have to see Sherlock to be sure."

John rushed over to the window, "Can you please keep your voice down!"

"Get into the car," Mycroft demanded again.

John opened the door and slid into the seat next to Mycroft who had moved over to give him room. The car smelled of leather with a hint of cigar smoke. The security screen was up.

Mycroft pushed the intercom and said, "William, two five three please."

"Yes sir," William replied and the car pulled smoothly away from the curb.

Mycroft, as always, was dressed impeccably in a dark grey three-piece suit. A chain hung out of his waistcoat pocket, and John wondered again if the pocket watch inside was an antique from some old Holmes ancestor, or a modern watch made to look like one.

"What is it you want?" John asked as the car pulled smoothly into heavier traffic.

"You're moving?" Mycroft said.

"How do you know?" John asked.

"Because you called for the removers to come. I've canceled them for you," Mycroft said straightening his tie.

"You shouldn't have done that," John said angrily, "You and your damn power complex! I have every right to move if I want to."

"John," Mycroft began, "I rely on you to take care of my brother. You can't do that as efficiently if you are not living with him."

"I have my own life, Mycroft. I'm going to move in with Mary and there's nothing that you can do to stop me."

Mycroft's thin lips came together in a line and he looked down at his perfectly polished shoes. He poked his umbrella into the floorboard twisting it as he thought. "It's about the sex isn't it?" Mycroft said looking sidelong at John. "My brother is unable to satisfy your... sexual needs."

"What goes on between me and Sherlock is our own business," John said before turning to look out of the tinted windows and watch the city go by, "Where are we going by the way?"

"Nowhere in particular," Mycroft said, "I just wanted some time to try to convince you to stay... Money?"

"Doesn't interest me." John said.

Mycroft smiled. "Yes," Mycroft stated, "You were always surprising that way. Noble. Loyal to a fault, and yet you are leaving Sherlock. Why? Because of sex? Because you want better sex? Could it be that simple? I wonder?"

Mycroft turned to John gazing at him with an intense scrutiny. Something about the look in his eyes made John nervous. "John," Mycroft said, "please don't fault my brother for his inexperience." Mycroft rested his arm on the seat behind him. "I'm sure that he tried his best, but there are some tasks that call for a more mature hand."

John straightened in his chair, "What do you mean?"

Mycroft laid an arm across John's shoulder and pulled him to his chest. He parted John's lips with his tongue which he then ran across the inside of his mouth. As their lips came apart John readied himself to say again for the millionth time that he was not gay, but he was shocked into silence when Mycroft laid a hand on his crotch.

In a moment his belt was open and an explosion of feeling overcame him as Mycroft's hands grabbed his pants in a complex dance of motion worthy of a kung-fu master. John cried out despite himself. Sherlock's skill was apparently a family trait.

Mycroft leaned forward until his lips touched John's ear and he whispered, "I'm sure that there must be some way that I can convince you to stay."

Mycroft's hand squeezed as his little finger stroked downward causing John to arch his back so violently that he banged his head against the window. The feel of small circles circumscribed across his scrotum made his body react as if he had no conscious control at all.

Sherlock's first touch had been a shock. Mycroft's even more so, but there was a difference. John could tolerate Sherlock's touch because he trusted him completely, but Mycroft? John couldn't change the feelings that Mycroft's touch had induced in him, but he could bloody well stop him. He gave Mycroft a chop on the neck knocking him down onto the floorboard. Then John threw a punch that was blocked by a rapid move of Mycroft who caught his wrist with the hook of his umbrella trapping his arm so that it was wrapped around his own neck. His other hand was pressed firmly against the seat.

"That will be quite enough of that," Mycroft said holding John's arm locked in the twisted position, his thumb pressed against John's throat. "Now, I'll let you go, and we can both keep our hands to ourselves for now. Is that acceptable to you?"

John nodded. The pressure against his voice box kept him from speaking. Slowly Mycroft released John, unhooking the umbrella from his hand. John rubbed his neck, then he sat back in his seat zipping his pants as Mycroft resumed his place as if nothing had happened. His perturbation only revealed by the firmness with which he still clasped his umbrella in one hand.

They drove in silence for a while neither of them meeting the other's eyes, and then Mycroft spoke. "So it isn't just casual sex that interests you. I read you wrong," he said, "It wasn't that the sex with Sherlock was unsatisfying. It was that it was TOO satisfying. You've resolved to leave him before you are tempted to stay."

"I don't know what you..." John said before clamping his mouth shut. Mycroft was reading him again. Understanding him better than he understood himself. What Mycroft had said about John's desire for danger in their first meeting had been true. Was this true too? Was he running from Sherlock? He watched the city go by and tried to empty his mind.

"If it's any consolation to you John. I, for one, believe that you are not gay. It's not men that interest you. It's one man." Mycroft smirked as he fidgeted with the handle of his umbrella, "I'm happy for him. Sherlock finally finds love."

John wanted to talk about how he was feeling, but he stopped himself. He no longer felt comfortable talking with Mycroft. Not since the moment that he had discovered that Mycroft had betrayed his own brother.

Mycroft answered as if he had read John's thoughts. "I'm sorry John. I know you can never forgive me for what I did. Please, just try to remember that everyone isn't as perfect as you are. Not everyone can stay loyal all of the time. And it is loyalty that is your problem now isn't it? Will you be loyal to Mary or to Sherlock?"

Mycroft rubbed the spot on his neck where John hit him and then punched the intercom. "Pull us over at the next tube entrance will you William?"

"Yes sir," William replied.

"I apologize John." Mycroft said, "I was a fool to doubt you. I know that as long as you are alive, you'll find a way to take care of Sherlock, no matter what you decide about your … domestic arrangements. "

The car stopped. John opened the door, and began to step out of the car when he felt a hand on his forearm. He turned to glare at Mycroft who held up his other hand to show that he was unarmed. "John" he said, "Whoever gets you as a husband will be a lucky person indeed. I just wanted you to know that."

Mycroft lifted his hand, and John stepped away from the car. The door shut as it zoomed away from the curb.

John's phone buzzed. He looked down and saw a message from Sherlock.

**[Movers called to confirm cancel. Where are you? -SH]**

And then moments later.

**[Does this mean you will stay? -SH]**

Then another text.

**[John took earlier train. Be N at 5. -Mary XX]**

John sighed heavily. Everyone wanted to talk to him, and now he had yet another thing that he couldn't tell anyone about. He turned off his phone before walking down the street in search of a good coffee shop, or perhaps a good bar.


	7. Mary

John rushed through the door making the bell chime. He looked around the room until he saw her sitting alone at a table in the back of the mostly empty café.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry. I lost track of time," John said as he rushed over to sit down at the table and take Mary's hand in his, "Have you been waiting long?"

"Not long," Mary said in her gentle voice. She smiled a small smile and John was struck again with how attractive she was. Mary was a person of small, perfect features. Petite round lips, Oval eyes of brown, a rounded face accentuated by thick braid of golden brown hair wrapped around her perfectly shaped head. John leaned forward and kissed her and she blushed.

"So, how was your aunt?" He asked.

"Snappy as ever I'm afraid," Mary said, "Honestly, I think that she invited me over just so that she could snap at me. She had a comment about everything I did. She even had a comment about my moving in with you."

"Oh really, what did she say?" John asked.

"She said, 'Why should he buy the cow when he can get the milk for free?' "

John giggled, "Did she really? So your aunt doesn't believe in couples living together."

"Absolutely not," Mary replied.

"How do you feel about it then?"

"You know how I feel, John. I think that any excuse to spend more time with you would be a good thing." Then Mary laughed, and as always her laughter filled the room. John smiled despite himself.

"And how have you been, John?" Mary asked, "You seem a bit thoughtful today."

John looked down at his hands. "Well to be honest, Mary, I've had some things happen that I need to think about."

"Sherlock?" She asked before looking up at door, "Well speak of the devil!"

John turned in his seat and saw Sherlock's tall form silhouetted in the doorway. He scanned the room and then spotting them made a beeline for the table.

"Hello," Mary said, "It's a pleasure to see you again, Mr Holmes. Please take a seat."

Sherlock glanced at her and then turned to John staring at him as he began to take off his gloves. "I've been texting you," He said, "You turned off your phone."

John pulled his phone out and looked at it, "Oh yeah! I forgot. I meant to turn it back on. Um, how did you find me here?"

"It was difficult with your phone off, so I traced Mary's phone."

"How did you?" John asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Please. It was simple. Don't bore me with having to explain the details. "

"Sherlock sit down, you are being rude to Mary," John said.

Sherlock looked Mary up and down and then said, "You have no room to talk, after coming so late to your appointment."

"Late?" John said questioningly, "She's only been waiting a couple of minutes."

"That's what she told you," Sherlock continued.

"It's nothing, it's nothing John," Mary said shaking her head.

John turned to Sherlock. "Go ahead, explain."

Sherlock gave him a smile. Pleased as ever to show off his skills of observation. "We can see that Mary has just returned from a visit to a seaside town. The fact that she was on a trip is evident by her hat on the chair next to her. A vacation hat. The kind that they sell in cheap seaside resorts, but more obviously it can be told by the train ticket hanging out of her bag. An overnight bag, so she's not been gone for very long.

"She's been here at least half an hour but probably more. There is a coaster on the table in front of her but not in front of you. She's had time to order a drink, finish it, and have the glass taken away before you arrived, but she didn't tell you. I know that she didn't tell you by the way that you are sitting. When you're apologetic you hunch forward. The fact that you are sitting up straight means that she misled you by telling you that she had only arrived moments before. How very polite of her."

"Her name is Mary," John said, "And she's right here. Say 'Hello' Sherlock!"

Sherlock turned and looked at Mary. Mary reached out a hand, "Pleased to see you again, Mr Holmes" she said.

Sherlock took her hand in two fingers as if attempting to avoid infection. He shook it once nodding his head before he sat down between Mary and John.

"So Sherlock," John began, "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to know if you are moving out of the apartment or not since you canceled the appointment with the movers," Sherlock said.

"Canceled?" Mary asked.

John looked at them both uncertain for an instant, then he said. "Yes. I decided not to use that moving company. I guess that I'll need to find another one."

"This is perfect," Mary said. "I thought that you had it handled, so I didn't want to suggest that you change your plan, but while I was on the train I met a woman whose son runs a moving business, and she said that he could give us rates much cheaper than the ones that you were quoted. She gave me his card. Let me see if I can find it."

Sherlock sat rod stiff in the chair glancing at John every so often out of the corner of his eye. "You didn't answer my question," he said. "Are you moving or not?"

"I thought that I was clear," John said.

Sherlock looked straight into Mary's eyes as he said, "You didn't seem that clear when you kissed me goodbye this morning."

John froze. Mary looked from John to Sherlock and back again. Sherlock sat with his mouth hard challenging Mary with his eyes.

Mary put down her purse and crossed her hands on the table. Then she tilted her head and addressed Sherlock, "Mr Holmes... Sherlock. May I call you Sherlock?" She asked.

"No," Sherlock said.

"Then Mr Holmes, I have been a school teacher for many years, and before that I was a nanny. It was my responsibility to teach young men and women how to act appropriately. It's sort of a habit so please excuse me but I feel compelled to tell you.

"That comment that you just made. It was meant to shock me. To drive a wedge between John and myself. Perhaps you thought that I would run off in a huff, hurt at John's betrayal. You may even have hoped that John and I would break up, and then John would stay in the apartment with you.

"But what you have actually done is embarrass John. You betrayed a confidence. Not only that, but you did it out of spite to hurt me. It isn't me that's been hurt by this. You've hurt John, and I think that you should apologize to him."

Sherlock turned to look at John. His face fell and he looked around embarrassed. "John, I apologize." He said sheepishly.

Mary smiled and turned to John, "Now John, say you forgive him."

John put his elbow on the table and turned away from Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes widened and a hurt expression came across his face. He rose and rushed out of the café.

"That wasn't nice John," Mary said.

John kept his face turned. "I meant to tell you some other way. I didn't mean for you to hear ..."

"What? That you kissed Sherlock? That you maybe did more than kiss Sherlock?" Mary asked. "John. I've expected this since the first day that Sherlock came back. Actually, I'm surprised that it took so long."

John turned to face her, his brow furrowed, "You expected this?"

"Of course," Mary said. "No one can see you and Sherlock together for an instant without knowing that you are incredibly close to each other. Bonds like that are forged with love. Nothing else."

"Yes," John said, "but friendship and 'kissing' are two different things. I feel that I've let you down."

Mary put an arm on John's shoulder and then lifted his chin so that he looked into her eyes. "John," She began, "Who you kiss and who you don't kiss is immaterial. What's important is how you feel about it, and you've felt about Sherlock Holmes longer than you've had feelings for me.

'"When we first met, you were in mourning. I'm a widow. I know what that feels like. But you got your man back. I can imagine how I would feel if my husband were alive again. I'd feel conflicted, confused. I completely expected that Sherlock would make a play for your affections. But you would be naïve to imagine that I won't fight to keep you. Because I will."

John's mouth fell open in surprise, and Mary leaned across the table to kiss it. Then she sat back and began to gather her things. "You're going to have to figure it out yourself, John. I'll be going now. Call me tomorrow." Mary stood but before she walked away she bent down and gave him a long passionate kiss. "Sherlock Holmes isn't the only person who is competitive," Mary said before walking away.

John felt dazed. He turned on his phone and began to dial. He needed to get drunk, Now!


	8. Wasted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: strong language, and pain.

John was drunk when he entered 221B Baker street, very drunk. It was well after midnight when he staggered up the stairs after spending an incredibly long time attempting to fit his key in the front door lock. Sherlock opened the door to their flat as John reached the landing. He was in his pajamas. A blanket on the couch suggested that he had been there for some time.

"Mike called," he said, "He wanted to make sure that you got home alright." Sherlock walked over to the table and picked up his phone to send a text. "I'll tell him that you're in shall I?"

John took off his coat, and after two attempts to hang it up he dropped it on the floor. Sherlock walked to the window and looked out. The street lamps illuminated his striking face and figure. John stood in the center of the darkened room and simply stared at him. His hair flowed ethereally around his otherworldly face.

"You're beautiful," John said.

John walked over and put an arm around Sherlock's waist. He lost his balance and had to grab tighter. Then he stood pushing himself up against Sherlock. "Kiss me, Sherlock," he said.

"You're drunk," Sherlock replied turning his head away.

"You told Mary that we kissed. What you didn't tell her was what an incredible tease you are. Give us a kiss then." John tried to kiss Sherlock who disengaged from him and walked across the room.

"Come back here," John said, " I want to have sex right here." John started to strip off his clothes. Sherlock walked back over to him and laid a hand on his arm dragging him to the center of the room.

"You're in the window, John. Someone might see you."

"What does it matter now?" John said, "Who cares if other people know about us? Damn them. Maybe we should just go have sex in the street."

"That would be remarkably cold and uncomfortable," Sherlock said steering John toward his room by holding on to his shoulder and his arm. Sherlock got John to the base of the stairs before John sat down suddenly.

"I have to go to the bathroom," he said.

Sherlock lifted him from the step, and helped him to the bathroom door. He reached out his hand to open the door only to find himself thrust up against it. John pinned his wrists as he planted a rough kiss on Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock stood up taller pulling his face away from John's.

"Tease," John said again, "I thought you wanted me."

"John. You might consider taking a nap."

"I don't feel like napping," John said as he rubbed himself against Sherlock while keeping his wrists pinned.

Sherlock stared down at him in silence. "John, you are very drunk. Your judgment is impaired. You might want to go to bed before you say or do something that you'll regret."

John laughed, pulling away from Sherlock and staggering down the hall. "I might do something I regret? Like shagging you? Yes, I regret that."

Sherlock frowned. Then he rushed forward and took John's arm. "John, please go to bed," he said, "You're not yourself."

"I'm not?" John said, "Then who am I? Oh that's right. Mrs Hudson will be pleased. Now she has a pair of married ones just like Mrs Turner. I can hear her now saying 'Oh don't mind the noises deary, It's just my married ones. They like to have a good bang in the afternoon." John pulled his arm out of Sherlock's grasp and staggered backwards across the room. "That's what they all think anyway, that we shag like rabbits as soon as we're alone. Well, if it's sex you want, I'm happy to oblige. Oh come on Sherlock. Bend over this chair, and I'll do you right here."

Sherlock pushed out his lip and stood a little taller before storming toward his room. "I'm going to bed," he said.

"Oh no you don't," John said running across the room and grabbing Sherlock's arms violently so that they both fell to the floor. Sherlock wriggled underneath his grip trying to push John off of him, but John spread out his legs and clasped Sherlock's hands pinning him like a wrestler.

"No. You're staying here. This is your fault," John said, "Years we lived together and everything was fine until you had to have more. Me, thinking that you were a saint, that you were above all that, and you having your dirty-minded thoughts just like the rest of us."

"John. Get off of me," Sherlock said menace growing in his voice, "Get off of me or I'll throw you off."

John glanced up at Sherlock. The stench of his alcohol-filled breath caused Sherlock to turn away. "See what I mean?" he said, "tease."

Sherlock bounced John off of him rolling him over and rising nimbly to his feet. "What's wrong with you John? Why are you saying these things?" he cried, "I'm not an angel. I never said that I was. And you...you've never acted this way before. You're being really annoying. If Mary could see you, she'd be ashamed."

"Don't you mention Mary," John said pointing as he rose to his knees, his voice a low growl, "Don't say a word about her. You Holmes men, your hands can go anywhere, do anything, making me question my own manhood. I'll have you know that I've fucked women. Women! No one ever doubted the virility of old three continents Watson."

"You can shut up now, John," Sherlock said.

John sat up swaying back and forth as he said, "Tore me apart you have, 'til I don't know if I'm coming or going. Made me want you so bad, I'm going mad from it. Went to a gay bar today. Mike didn't want to. I said, I wanted to see how the other half lived." John laughed, "The other half?"

"But John. Why does this bother you so much? Your own sister is gay."

"My sister, your brother, nothing wrong with being gay except I'm not! Bloke tried to pick me up. I said 'no'. He was insistent. I said, I had a jealous husband at home." John laughed again and then pushed himself to his feet.

"Mike left me after a while. Said that I was too much for him. Met a couple of nice guys. They helped me find a cab. "

Sherlock took a step forward, "Did they hurt you, or do anything to you? Did they take your wallet?"

"I told you I took a cab. My wallet is right here." John twisted around trying to reach into his pants pocket. But he got dizzy and had to put his hands on his knees. "Ooo, too much," he said. Sherlock reached out to help him and John yelled, "Get your hands off of me you fuckin' queer!"

Sherlock jumped back. He stared at John. Shock and hurt etched on his face. John stared back at him eyes wide and his face changed from anger to despair. John covered his face with his hands sinking to the floor, and began to cry.

Sherlock came over and knelt down beside him without touching him.

Tears streamed down John's face. "What am I to do? What am I to do?" he said, "Which of you should I betray? I thought that you would be easiest, but this is so damn difficult.

"I hurt you. I try to make you pull away from me, and when you do, I feel the rip as if you are peeling off my skin when you leave me. Mary says I need to choose. But everything is painful. Oh God, I'm going to be sick." Sherlock reached out, and helped John into the bathroom where he vomited into the toilet.

John washed his mouth out in the sink, "Awful words taste awful don't they?" he said as Sherlock began to fill the bath with water, "I'm sorry Sherlock. I'm so sorry for what I said."

"Come on now," Sherlock said, "Get out of those clothes."

John slid down against the bathroom wall, and Sherlock helped him get undressed. He walked him over to the bathtub and lowered him in. John sank into the water until it was right below his nose. Some water spilled over onto the floor.

Sherlock could clearly see how John's exposed skin was reddened from too much alcohol. John dozed off, and Sherlock sat on the toilet watching him to make sure that he did not drown. Sherlock pulled his feet up onto the toilet lid and wrapped his arms around his knees.

John had been abusive, and a bit scary. Was that real or an act? He said that he wanted to drive him away. Did that mean that he had already chosen Mary? Sherlock gazed at John's compact body. He wasn't getting any younger. This dangerous life that they led would eventually take its toll on him. Was it wrong of John to want someone who could take care of him? Give him a pipe and slippers or whatever else married people were supposed to do?

Sherlock couldn't imagine remembering to give John a pipe and slippers every evening. Too much else to do. Too much else to think of. Besides, John didn't smoke.

John's nose sank beneath the water and he jumped. Sherlock hopped down and put an arm under John's shoulder. "John, John, wake up. Time to go to bed."

John's eyes slid open slowly. Sherlock helped him up, set the water to drain, and wrapped a towel around him, then he slowly led him through the apartment and up to his room. John leaned against Sherlock as they took the steps one by one. Then Sherlock sat John down on the edge of the bed and he toweled off his chest and hair before laying him down and covering him up. Sherlock sat on the edge of John's bed and stared at his face becoming lost in memories.

 


	9. Sherlock

The first time that Sherlock had seen John, he had been testing out a new technique to detect blood. Mike had entered and he had glanced at the stiff man behind him thinking, _"so Mike has found me a flatmate so quickly. I hope that he isn't a disappointment like the others."_ When John offered him his phone, Sherlock took a good look at him, and he was fascinated.

A soldier, injured in the war, stiff, patriotic, as if he came from another era. John was a mystery greater than anything in the lab. He was captivating. Totally mismatched to this age. Edges of anger and despair. Steady, sharp, handsome. Sherlock wanted to see more of him. As he walked away from him sipping his coffee, he knew that he needed to impress him. That John Watson was the kind of man who couldn't leave a mystery alone. Sherlock wanted him as a flatmate. He put on his coolest persona. He even winked. He never winked at anyone. It was just the beginning of the playful foolishness that John induced in Sherlock whenever he was around.

Lestrade had commented on it. The way that he kept John as close as the newest mobile phone. Sherlock was surprised himself at how happy he felt when John praised him, and how much he needed to impress him. He had been almost giddy during the serial suicides case, and when he realized that John had killed a man to save him, he was overwhelmed with emotion. It was as if a hero from the Indian wars had waltzed into his apartment: Loyal, smart, incredibly brave, a man who trusted in his own morality above the law, steady under pressure, a little bit dangerous. Sherlock was enchanted, infatuated.

Every day, every moment that they spent together, he became more attached. With John he thought better. Talking to John helped him make connections. When he was depressed, John pulled him out of it. John was funny. He was always surprising.

Before John, life was so chaotic. A constant struggle to find meaning in a world full of stupidity. Moriarty was right. Life was boring and pointless most of the time, but death wasn't the answer. Death meant leaving John. But now, John was leaving him. Somehow Sherlock had believed that they would always be together.

John was a man who deserved a future, a shining life full of success. He deserved more than just being a follower, a blogger, his Boswell. He deserved more than Sherlock could give him. Yet John had followed him willingly, worked with him, helped him. He admired Sherlock, although it would be too much to call John's admiration love.

Because everyone admired Sherlock's genius. His genius was easy to see, but John also had genius. The genius of gentle hands that calmed an injured child, that stood fast beside him as they faced down a giant hound that wasn't, and that took the same beast down with a steady shot despite the fact that he was full of hallucinogens. The genius of always being there to help when Sherlock needed it, of being able to boost his confidence with a look or a word, able to focus Sherlock's thoughts and make his sharp mind even sharper, the genius that could simultaneously make him feel calmer than a child in his mother's arms. and higher than the strongest dose of cocaine. How anyone could look at John and not see this was beyond Sherlock's understanding. It was the one thing about Mary that Sherlock liked. She, at least, understood his worth.

Sherlock imagined John walking out of the door for the last time, and he shivered as if in a chill wind. Without John, he knew that he would get colder and colder until his heart turned to ice. Sherlock felt the warm track of a tear roll down his face as he gazed at John's sleeping figure. He lay down beside John, curling himself against his side, but John did not stir, so he never heard the desperate sound of Sherlock's voice whispering over and over, _"Don't leave me, don't leave me. Please don't leave me,"_ until he too fell asleep.

  
  


  
  



	10. Hangover

The next morning John woke with a horrendous headache. He felt as if his alarm clock was physically banging against his skull. He fell out of bed, only then realizing, as his body bashed against the cold floor, that he was naked, again. John tried to remember what he had done last night. He remembered drinking. There was lots of drinking. He didn't remember coming home, then suddenly he saw an image of himself saying something awful to Sherlock. He put a hand to his head, "Oh God, what did I do last night?"

John put on his robe and walked downstairs to find that the apartment was empty. A note on the table said. "Refrigerator." John opened the door and found that Sherlock had made him a drink for his hangover. He downed it in one go, only afterward wondering if Sherlock had added some of the exotic ingredients that he liked to experiment with.

John showered and dressed and took something for his headache downing an extra glass of water for the dehydration. Then he hobbled down the stairs and rushed off to work. Oddly enough, he found that he had arrived a few minutes early.

Sitting in his office he tried to remember the day. The revelations were almost as painful as his headache that had receded to a dull ache, but had not completely gone away. First Mycroft had canceled his appointment, assaulted him, accused him and complemented him. Then Sherlock and he had acted like children in front of Mary.

"Oh God, Mary!" John said, lifting his hand to his face. Sherlock had told Mary about them. He should have been the one to tell her, but ...she seemed to have expected it. How could she have?

There was too much going on. He was being pulled in all directions, and it had seemed logical to just get drunk and forget everything for a while. But afterwards, exactly what had he said? He remembered tackling Sherlock and holding him down shouting _"tease"_. "My God! What will I have to apologize for?"

John remembered that bloke in the gay bar. He had spilled his heart to him. Told him of his confusion. Of how unexpected his feelings for Sherlock were, of how Mary was so understanding, but her understanding was in its own way horrible because it meant that she expected him to hurt someone. She expected that John, the doctor, would cut off his arm cleanly and go on living without it, but how could he do that?

He had suggested abuse. Drive them away. Insult them, anger them, make them hate you, then they will do the leaving. And in the state of mind that John had been in, he had decided to try it, but every time that he resolved to leave he sat back down and took another drink for courage until the he found hands all over his body for the second time that day and that man had left with a bloodied nose.

John reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He had turned it off in the first bar when the thought of reading another one of Sherlock's texts was just too much for him. It was still off, so he turned it on to see a host of messages. He read through them.

**[Movers called to confirm cancel. Where are you? -SH]**

  
  


**[Does this mean you will stay? -SH]**

  
  


**[John took earlier train. Be N at 5. -Mary XX]**

  
  


**[John where are you. We need to talk – SH]**

  
  


**[What did you mean by canceling. Please call. - SH]**

  
  


**[Did I offend you somehow? Call me -SH]**

  
  


**[Have arrived. Am at R Cafe. Mary]**

  
  


**[I am sorry. Please come home – SH]**

  
  


**[I love you – SH]**

  
  


John stared. Sherlock had sent that message and what had he done? He had come home drunk and assaulted him. Maybe worse. A hollow pain filled John's stomach. He felt awful, but he didn't know what to do about it. He took another aspirin. Then the intercom buzzed and he cleared his mind to see the first patient of the day.

 


	11. Homecoming

John stood outside the front door to 221b. It was at times like this he regretted that he did not smoke. People who smoked had a good excuse for standing outside of their apartment. John did not. But John was hesitant to see Sherlock again. Over time, most of last night had come back to him, and the one thing that he knew for sure was that he had been a total shit. Sherlock deserved an apology, but John didn't know how to give it. John looked up at the window hoping to see Sherlock's face staring out at him as he so often did. If he saw that face, he would know if Sherlock had forgiven him.

John pulled out the phone and read the message again.

**[I love you – SH]**

When had Sherlock texted it? Surely after the conversation with Mary. John remembered that conversation with embarrassment as well. He and Sherlock had acted like children. No wonder Mary had felt the need to nanny them.

But Sherlock often made John feel like a schoolboy. They laughed together like primary school mates who had just tied the teacher's shoelaces together. Sometimes John felt that he was sillier now than he had been as a child. Sherlock affected him that way.

Sherlock was the sun and he, John Watson, was a planet that circled him. John looked up at the window willing the sun to come out and shine on his face, and lips, and eyelids. Sherlock had been the center of his life ever since John had been swept into his orbit, and when he left him, John wandered without focus or center through darkness until he had met Mary.

Even so, who having once glimpsed the sun would not wish to bathe in his light even if it burned him. To feel his warm fingers caressing his face and neck. His strong, hot touch intense like fire. John had to see him even if he went up in flames. John walked up the steps to the flat.

He heard Sherlock before he saw him. Sherlock was at the fireplace removing papers from the mirror and placing them in a file. Sherlock could be incredibly neat about his personal matters, but when a case was on, neatness flew out the window. Now that the case was over, he carefully gathered the clues and notes and placed them into a file for later study. Sherlock removed a sheet from the mirror, and saw John's reflection. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then Sherlock turned away, placing the file in a cardboard box.

"Good evening John." He said. His voice neutral and matter of fact.

"Good evening Sherlock." John said before hanging up his coat.

Sherlock was wearing his black shirt today. He had rolled up the sleeves as he did when he had research to do. Sherlock was always very particular about his dress. The price of Sherlock's shirt alone was more than the cost of John's entire suit. It had a sheen to it in this light that accentuated the smoothness of Sherlock's back. When he turned, John noticed that the top two buttons were undone, revealing his smooth white skin. John remembered the feel of Sherlock's chest. That night, he had oiled it. It had tasted of cherries.

Sherlock looked up. Had he noticed John staring? They locked eyes, then John walked into the kitchen. He looked in the refrigerator. There was nothing edible but a moldy piece of cheese, so he knelt down to search the cabinet for some nibbles and felt rather than saw Sherlock enter the kitchen.

An electric charge seemed to run all along John's body when Sherlock walked past. John froze and listened to Sherlock's footsteps as he watched him out of the corner of his eye. It was as if there was an elastic cord between Sherlock's body and his own. A force that pulled them closer together.

John found a packet of Melba toast and stood. Sherlock was facing away examining something on the counter. John walked past him and sat at the kitchen table. He took a bite. He could feel Sherlock standing behind him. It made his shoulder blades itch.

Sherlock walked around to the other side of the table. He was holding a large book titled CRC Chemistry and Physics. He plopped it down on the table and began to read. John became fascinated with the way his long fingers delicately separated the thin pages of the book. He rubbed his finger down the edge in a clockwise motion pinching the paper between middle finger and thumb before turning it. John imagined Sherlock's hands making that same clockwise motion along his thigh. John sat back opening his legs and biting his thumb.

Sherlock's hand stopped on the page. John looked up to see that Sherlock was staring right at him. John crossed his legs and picked up the newspaper to hide his blushing face. It took him a moment to find a comfortable way to sit. He shook his head and tried very hard to get himself together.

He could hear Sherlock close the book and rise from the table. John figured that now might be a good time to escape to his room. He rose quickly and turned bumping into Sherlock who was behind him. He bounced against his chest falling backward so that Sherlock had to steady him with one hand. Sherlock's touch burned like fire. John pulled away.

"Sorry," John said. Then he looked up again, and got caught in Sherlock's arrow sharp gaze. Sherlock stared down at him deeply, intensely, and John could feel the cord pulling his lips closer and closer to his. Then Sherlock's phone rang. He looked down and the cord was cut. John fell back.

Sherlock pulled the phone out of his pants pocket while John tried to catch his breath.

"Hello Kate," Sherlock said, "Yes I did."

John turned and walked into the living room to his computer.

"Well that has yet to be determined," Sherlock said twisting away, "No, I don't think that will be necessary. Goodbye Kate."

John walked over to his laptop and sat down. "Who was that?" he asked.

"Kate Cooper, you remember, I told you about her. She was just asking about...things."

"Oh" John said, "things. I see."

Sherlock put his phone back into his pocket and came into the living room. He paced back and forth behind John as he filed the papers. John opened the lid of his laptop and typed in his password. In his mind's eye he could see Sherlock walking. His legs striding like a leopard across the carpet. The funny way he swayed his body from side to side when he was thinking. The computer returned an error. John typed the password in again. It did not work.

"Sherlock?" John said, "Did you change my password when you were putting those videos on my computer?"

"What?" Sherlock said striding up behind him. He leaned over John's shoulder placing one hand on the table and the other on the back of John's chair. His head was so close to John that he could feel Sherlock's breath on his neck. A curl from his head tickled John's ear. John sucked in a breath.

"Type it again." Sherlock said.

It was hard to think of anything while Sherlock was this close to him. Sherlock's heat radiated off him in waves. He typed the password.

"You typed it wrong." Sherlock said, leaning over John's lap to type the correct password on the keyboard. As he pulled back, his nose almost touched John's cheek. John turned and found his lips were centimeters away, almost touching Sherlock's. John froze fascinated by the shape of Sherlock's nose. Sherlock's breath became deeper and more raw. John moved in closer. Then John's phone rang.

Sherlock stood and resumed his pacing while John answered the phone.

"Hello" John said.

"Hello John." Mary replied. " You didn't call so I thought that I'd call you."

"Oh yes Mary. Sorry. So how are you?"

"I'm fine," Mary said, "I just wanted to tell you that I'll be working all night. Mrs Johnson has the flu and she needs someone to take care of the triplets. Sorry I can't come by."

"No, that's fine, it's fine, good. You take care."

"Oh thanks John. You are so understanding. Love you," Mary said.

"Love you too." John said turning to look at Sherlock's back, "Goodbye."

John put the phone away. He stared across the room at Sherlock who was fidgeting with the things on the mantlepiece. He refused to look back at John. John tried to concentrate on his monitor. He started to write in his blog, but when he looked at the screen and found that he had typed the word 'Sherlock' ten times in a row. John ran his fingers through his hair. He was too distracted to work. This couldn't go on. He had to talk to Sherlock.

He turned around in his chair and saw that Sherlock was staring at him. His high cheekbones and closed lips reminded John of the images of Egyptian Pharaohs or perhaps their cats, noble and inscrutable. Not someone to talk to. Someone to worship, John was tempted to fall on his knees in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock walked over to John, and John stood looking up into Sherlock's face. John blinked. Had it been only two days since he had felt the taste of those lips? It seemed like months, like years. It would be a crime to wait another minute. Sherlock's head tilted very slightly to John's left. His stare held John like the glance of a cobra, impossible to turn away from.

John noticed the slight dimple above Sherlock's lips. The soft smooth curve of his neck. The shadow beneath his ear. The way his mouth curved very slightly up around the edges. His thick eyebrows. Ears as high as his eyes. His narrow shoulders. The squareness of his chin. His eyes narrow and smiling. The shadow under his cheekbone. The moisture of his freshly licked lips.

John followed the curve of Sherlock's cheekbones with his eyes. He had traced the line of that cheek with his finger. He longed to do it again with his tongue. If they could only touch. John knew that it would mend the breach between them. John leaned forward.

They were startled by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The door opened and Molly and Lestrade came in. Sherlock stepped away.

"Lestrade, Molly, you seem an unlikely pair to see together this time of day," Sherlock said leaning casually against the mantle.

"We heard about John moving, and we decided to throw you a going away party." Molly said lifting a polka dotted bag topped with ribbon.

"She says 'we', " Lestrade began, "It was Molly's idea. She wanted to know how you two were getting on. Caught me on the corner and came up with the plan."

"Oh really?" Sherlock said.

Molly hit Lestrade's shoulder, "You didn't have to tell them that."

John turned back to the screen. He slowly deleted the letters K ... C ... O ...L ...

"I see that you've started packing," Molly said.

"Oh no," John objected, "Those are Sherlock's I haven't started yet."

"Then you better get a move on. Friday will be here before you know it." Molly smirked nervously. Lestrade stood beside the door with his arms crossed.

"You don't have to throw me a party," John said, "I'm not leaving the country or anything. Just moving across town. I'll still be around."

"Yes, but I don't suppose we'll see you as much," Molly added, "and Sherlock will be grieving, although he probably won't tell you."

"Molly!" Sherlock interjected.

"Just saying," Molly replied. "So, come along. The pub awaits. Our treat."

"Ours?" Lestrade asked surprised.

"It's not a party if they have to pay, " Molly said walking toward the door.

John closed his laptop and sighed. Sherlock was already in the corner putting on his coat. He began to tie his scarf. John rose and followed Molly down the stairs. He was half-way down before he realized that he had forgotten to put on his coat, "Just a second, I forgot something," John said as he turned and trod up the stairs.

John opened the door and walked into the apartment. Suddenly hands grabbed him and pulled him behind the door. John felt Sherlock's mouth covering his own. His arms pulling him close. He kissed him hungrily, passionately. John's surprise gave way to lust and he pushed Sherlock up against the wall behind the open door pressing himself up against Sherlock's body which he could feel even through his coat.

John wrapped Sherlock's blue scarf around his hand and pulled Sherlock's face down greedily drinking his kisses faster than Sherlock could give them.

"John, Sherlock?" Molly called from the foot of the stairs. "What's keeping you?"

John pulled away, but Sherlock rushed forward butting his lips against John's face and pulling him back into his embrace. Sherlock's tongue in his mouth prevented John from answering her.

"Sherlock? John?" Molly called again. Then they heard her footsteps as she began to climb the stairs.

John's heart was beating triple-time. His breath came only in the infrequent moments between kisses. Just before Molly entered, Sherlock spun him across the room and stepped out so that when Molly entered she saw the perfectly ordinary sight of Sherlock putting on his gloves.

"Just a moment," Sherlock said.

John took his coat off of the hook and put it on. He was glad that he was facing away from Molly, because he had to adjust his pants before turning to go. He walked out last, closing the door behind him, his eyes focused on Sherlock's back as he wondered how short he could make this party. Because right now ' _going_ ' was not the thing that he was thinking of.


	12. Aftermath

John woke to the sound of his watch alarm beeping. He blinked open his eyes to find that he wasn't in his room. "What time is it?" Sherlock asked leaning over to grab John's wrist, "Ah, It's 5am." Sherlock snuggled back down in the bed and pulled the blanket over his head. John was in Sherlock's bed.

There was something under his neck. John pulled it out and looked at it. It was the leather driver's hat. Well at least this time he hadn't woken up completely naked. John looked around the room at the shelves, Sherlock's bug collection, his bust of Goethe, his periodic table, and the wooden chest.

Suddenly the memories flooded back. That tedious going away party where John and Sherlock had sat so far apart from each other. The embarrassing questions Molly asked like, "So how do Mary and Sherlock get along then?"

"We find that we have... at least one common interest," was Sherlock's politic answer.

John had resigned himself to hours of pub ' _fun_ ' when Sherlock (brilliant Sherlock!) said that he had a headache and could not do _Karaoke_. Then John had remembered that he had an early appointment at the clinic and they escaped.

The long taxi ride in silence. Rushing up the steps to their apartment. Sherlock and John were in each other's arms before their coats had hit the floor.

John leaned back in the bed and steadied himself by placing a hand on the headboard. White was forming around his vision again as he recalled it. The popping sounds that the buttons made as he ripped open Sherlock's shirt. The feel of Sherlock's almost hairless chest under his tongue. The sound of his zipper. The smooth skin of his buttocks as John pulled down his pants before pushing Sherlock into his favorite chair. Who could have known how convenient those metal bars were.

And when their first passion was spent, they had moved into Sherlock's room and he had pulled out the chest where he had hidden all those things that Kate had made him buy. John had never seen most of them before, so Sherlock had carefully explained the use of each one.

John's watch beeped again and he turned it off. John sighed. He blinked his eyes several times to clear the sleep out of them, and then turned toward Sherlock, "I'm going to have to go. I have to open the clinic this morning."

Sherlock's curly head popped out from under the covers. He draped an arm over John and snuggled up close, his finger absentmindedly drawing figure eights on John's chest. "Call in sick." Sherlock groaned lazily.

"I can't" John said, "There are patients who need me."

"What about this patient? I need you," Sherlock said as he reached up and stole a kiss.

John snorted, "Patient? And what sickness do you have exactly?"

"I'm lovesick," Sherlock moaned earning himself a dozen more kisses.

John rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "Sherlock," he began, "About my moving ..."

Just then Sherlock's phone rang. He pulled it out from under the pillow where he had stashed it and answered. "Sherlock Holmes," he said, "No, I was already awake...Really? I'll meet you there."

Sherlock jumped out of bed and pulled on his pants. He put on his robe and tied the strap. "Get up John. There's a murder at Harrods. Lestrade can only give us a little time because they want to clean up before opening. Coming?"

"I wanted to be." John said, "What happened to calling in sick?"

"Oh that's right, you had that work thing you had to do." Sherlock said as he laid out his clothes on his dresser. "I'll phone you on your lunch break and tell you all about it." Sherlock went to shower.

John sat up and leaned against the wooden headboard. He thought about asking Sherlock to stay, but he knew better. Sherlock was unstoppable when he was on a case. Obsessed. John would get no more love today. He got up and walked into the living room. While searching the floor for his clothes, he stepped on something sharp. It was a button. John picked up the black shirt and looked at it, then he tossed it into the wastebin.

Sherlock rushed into the room and used a shoe horn to put on his patent leather oxfords. He turned to John. "I seem to remember you saying something about moving. What were you going to say?"

John watched Sherlock put on his coat. He stood exposed, his clothes clasped in his hands. "Nothing." John said, "I have nothing important to say. Go solve your case."

Sherlock turned and left the room storming down the stairs. John sat down in his chair and put his head in his hands.


	13. Dear John

Sherlock did not call at lunchtime. John went home that evening to an empty flat. A note on the door read:

**Off to Sheffield, Back Later.**

John looked around the flat. Already things were in disarray. The phone rang...Sherlock?

"Hello!" John said.

"Hello John," Mary replied, "Good news. That woman whose son runs a moving company called me! They have an opening tomorrow, so I arranged for them to pick up your things in the afternoon. You don't have to do a thing. Just label the boxes that they should take, and we'll be moved in by tomorrow evening. What do you think?"

"Oh!" John said,"That's good."

"Do you want me to come over and help you pack? Mrs Johnson can find someone else to help with the triplets."

"No, no, take care of the triplets," John insisted, "I can pack by myself. Most of the things here belong to Sherlock anyway."

"Alright John. I'll see you tomorrow. Kiss."

"Good night, Mary"

John sat down at the kitchen table in the empty flat. It would be Chinese takeout tonight. He knew better than to order for Sherlock. Sherlock never ate when on the trail. John turned on the telly and unfolded a cardboard box, searching around the room for his things. Everything that he touched reminded him of Sherlock. Sherlock didn't come home that night.

At six the next morning John received a text.

**[Assailant bagged. Iron ore on shoe. Breakfast?]**

John blew out a breath. His packing had taken much less time than he had expected. He pushed his boxes over into the corner of the room beside the door. The room still looked the same. John picked up his phone and sent a text.

**[This is my short day. Lunch at La Voix 2pm]**

John sat down in 'his' chair. Really it belonged to Sherlock, but it had become his over the years. Sherlock's empty chair stared back at him. Just looking at it brought back so many memories: Last night's lovemaking, coming home after the 'suicide', their first day in the flat together.

John rubbed his face with his hands. He sat back and tried to soak it all in. Everything that they had done together. Everything that they had been to each other. If one counted his time with Sherlock as a percentage of his life, it was only a small amount of time, but counted in terms of experiences, it was as if he had lived many lives since he had met him. They had done so many things together. Sherlock had taken over his brain, his heart, his life. Was this what he wanted? Was this what was best for him? Was this what was best for Sherlock? It was time to make a decision. John closed his eyes and listened to his heart.

  


  


John was already seated at a quiet table in the back of the restaurant when Sherlock arrived. He entered hesitantly but when he saw John he rushed forward and sat down.

"John." Sherlock sputtered, "The murderer worked in a mine. There were traces of ore on his footprints. One of the good things about department stores is that they are very fastidious about keeping the floors clean. The sample was excellent.

"I identified the region that he was from, but he had bolted. They caught him using roadblocks. There was a bit of a tussle on a hillside but my Judo training kept me in good stead. I wish you had been there. They still have to do DNA tests to confirm his identity, but there's no question. I'm already bored."

John smiled but said nothing. The waiter came by and John ordered two glasses of wine. Sherlock looked from John to the waiter and sat up straight in his chair.

The waiter returned with the wine and John ordered for them. "I'll have the steak and kidney pie, and he'll have the pasta primavera."

Sherlock stared at John. He looked at his face, his hands, his feet, then he pinched his lips together. "You're breaking up with me," he said.

"No, we just need to talk," John said

"Please John, don't be coy." Sherlock said, "The quiet expensive restaurant. The table in the back, you must have paid a considerable tip. Wine at lunchtime to soften the blow. You ordering for me because you intend to pay for the meal. Everything adds up. You're done with me. It's over. You've made up your mind."

"Sherlock," John said putting out a hand.

"Is it because I didn't take you on the case?" Sherlock asked placing an elbow in the table as he leaned forward covering his mouth, "I should have...maybe if I had called more often."

"No Sherlock, calm down. It's not that," John said.

Sherlock looked around his eyes glistened, "What? am I making a scene? Sorry, I don't mean to embarrass you. I guess I keep doing that don't I. Mary doesn't embarrass you does she? She has impeccable manners."

"Please Sherlock. Just listen to me...please," John said motioning downward with his hand.

"Just tell me John," Sherlock said, "Just say the words. 'I choose Mary'. Then I'll go."

"This isn't about Mary. This isn't even about you. It's about me. What I need. What I want," John said calmly.

Sherlock sat forward his head resting on his hand. Which moved nervously under his chin. He looked at John and then away. John sat back in his chair and folded his hands.

"I've been thinking about my life the past few years," John said, "Since I've met you. My life has been exciting, amazing, fantastic. I've become an entirely new person. But I haven't been living my life. I've been living yours.

"Who am I really? For the last several years I've been defined by you. I'm Sherlock's assistant or Sherlock's blogger or now Sherlock's lover.

"I mean, I'm a damn good doctor, but other than a little locum work that I do for the money, the only time I use my medical skills is to do your post-mortems. I put my life on hold to live with you.

"I have things that I want...that I always planned to do with my life. I want to have a home. A safe home where I won't be bombed or kidnapped. I want to have a family. Children of my own that I can watch grow up into good men and women. Maybe even a dog."

"We could get a dog," Sherlock said.

John smiled. "It's just...my life can't be just about you anymore. I need to have my own life. To make a name for myself. A life where I'm the smart one. I can't be your satellite forever. I can't depend on you for my happiness anymore."

Sherlock put his hands on his lap. "But what if I depend on you for my happiness?"

John watched Sherlock's face. His lips twitched nervously. His brow furrowed. When he began talking again, his voice was low and scratchy. His intertwined fingers moved constantly like snakes as he talked. "John, I honestly don't know if I can live without you. When I have a case, I'm fine, but between cases...You're the only thing that gives me a reason to live."

"Sherlock," John began.

"No John, listen. Moriarty told me that for people like he and I there is only one ending. I've just postponed the end for a bit."

"Moriarty? Why would you listen to anything that he said? Moriarty was evil!"  
  


"He was a worthy opponent! I regret Moriarty's death. Now what am I left with? Petty thieves, domestic violence, trivialities. It's hardly worth getting out of bed for.

"But you...John, you make me happy. You make me laugh. Without you, what's left for me but emptiness, boredom and death."

John shook his head. "Don't do this. Don't do this, Sherlock. Don't try to manipulate me into staying, because I know that you can win if you want to. But I'm begging you, for once in your life, put someone else's happiness before your own. Just let me have my own small dream of a happy life. Do this for me, please, if you love me."

Sherlock licked his lips and then nodded. The food arrived but Sherlock didn't eat anything. He sat in silence while John finished his pie. John had them wrap up the food, and he paid the bill.

When John stood to leave, Sherlock stayed in his seat. John reached out his hand. "Sherlock, let's go home."

Sherlock took his hand and they walked out of the restaurant together.


	14. Leaving

The movers packed the last box onto the truck. John signed the clipboard and watched as it drove away. Sherlock had already gone up.

"Sad thing to lose you," Mrs Hudson said, "Don't know what we'll do without you. Sherlock will be ten times worse with you not around. All his goings on. I don't know how I'll stand it."

"Yes, I'll miss you too, Mrs Hudson," John said before walking up the stairs to his flat for the last time.

The living room looked much as it ever did. Most of the things in the flat were Sherlock's after all. Sherlock had offered him the chair, but he had left it here for visits. Mary already had a complete living room set.

Sherlock was at his customary perch by the window. "I guess I better check out my room to see that I have everything," John said and seeing no reaction he turned and went up the stairs. He heard the sound of footsteps behind him as he entered the room.

It seemed so bare now. There was only a wooden dresser and a bed without sheets. John went over to the dresser and checked the drawers finding nothing in them. He stood by the window and looked back at Sherlock who had remained by the door barely inside the space that was John's old room.

"Well I'm all cleared out. Everything's ready in case you get another flatmate."

"There will be no other flatmate, John." Sherlock said.

"But the rent?" John said, "You can't afford it alone."

"Mycroft has been paying the rent. He has an automatic account that does it. I don't think that he even knows that it's still set up that way. I'll get along alright."

"But if Mycroft's been paying it? What have you been doing with my money?" John said angrily.

"I saved it. I invested it. To give to you as a wedding present," Sherlock said.

"I'm not getting married. I'm just moving."

"Yes of course," Sherlock replied.

"You and Mycroft. Always trying to tell me what I'm thinking."

"Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, "Did you see Mycroft? What did he want?"

"To stop me from moving," John said, "He made a pass at me."

"What?" Sherlock exclaimed, "I'm going to have to have a talk with my dear brother about proper manners."

"No, no, no Sherlock," John said, " It was just … a misunderstanding. He was just...helping me get my thoughts straight about you."

"Oh, is that what you think he was doing?" Sherlock said the edges of his mouth turned down. "So, how did you respond to this pass by Mycroft?" John looked at Sherlock who was trying to look casual and nonchalant, but was visibly hurt by this confession.

"Well," John said, "He tried to put a hand down my pants, so I clocked him one."

Sherlock broke into a smile. "Really? I'd have liked to have seen that. Then what?"

"Then he immobilized me with that umbrella of his. Is that why he always carries it around?"

"Mycroft always preferred weapons. He studied the sword and the cane. I prefer hand to hand myself. You clocked him...really? Does he have a black eye? I should go visit."

"Blimey. You Holmes are an interesting pair."

"Yes, I suppose I am 'Holmes' to you now. When you have children, will you have them call me Mr. Holmes or Uncle Sherlock? No, Mr Holmes will be better. It's always the person called 'Uncle' who turns out to be a child molester or a thief."

"Sherlock. Don't be like that."

"Like what? What way do you want me to be?"

"I just don't want you to talk that way. " John said, "I don't want you to feel..."

"To feel what?" Sherlock said, his voice cracking, "To feel hurt? Well it's too late. I do feel hurt. I feel abandoned. How could you suggest that I simply rent out this room as if anyone else could ever replace you."

"This isn't about replacing anything. We can still work on cases together."

"In your spare time, when you aren't too busy."

"Yes, in my spare time. We discussed this."

"We?" Sherlock said accusingly, "As if you heard a word of what I had to say."

"I heard you Sherlock. I just...had to make a choice."

"Well you made your choice. This isn't your home anymore. So go!"

His outburst echoed in the empty room falling to the floor in silence. The two of them stood still staring in horror at the distance that had suddenly grown between them.

"Alright," John said finally, "Goodbye Sherlock."

But as John walked toward the door Sherlock reached his arm out to him. Sherlock's eyes were wide, round and watery as he said, "John, don't go. Please don't go like this."

John grabbed Sherlock's hand and kissed it. Then he held his shoulders and hugged him to his chest. Sherlock closed his eyes and held on tight for a few seconds, then he took a deep breath and pushed John away.

"Forgive me John. It was a moment of weakness. You should go now. Mary's waiting." Sherlock walked a few steps into the room and faced away refusing to look at John.

John gazed at Sherlock's stiff back, at Sherlock's version of keeping a stiff upper lip. Sherlock was in pain, but he put John's happiness before his own. Where was the selfish child of their first months together? Now he was noble and full of compassion. Sherlock Holmes had become a GOOD man. At this moment he was so incredibly beautiful that John could hardly bear to watch him. He walked up to him and put his arms around Sherlock's waist.

John put his mouth on the back of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock stiffened as he opened it rubbing his tongue against the skin and spelling out first in script and then in Morse code the letter S. Sherlock glanced at John out of the corner of his eye.

John tightened his grip around Sherlock's waist and hugged him. Then he leaned over and stared at Sherlock's profile. Sherlock looked at John and then turned away.

John ran one hand through the curls in the back of Sherlock's head to expose the skin as he rose on his toes to kiss his neck. Sherlock's head fell to his chest. John rubbed Sherlock's neck with his chin, then he drew a circle on the exposed skin with his tongue before tapping out in Morse code the message:

**M. I. S. S. Y. O. U.**

Sherlock sighed deeply in surrender, and then he turned and faced John. They stared into each other's eyes and then John stood on his toes and kissed Sherlock. Sherlock wrapped his arms tightly around him and kissed him back passionately, deeply, desperately.

Sherlock rubbed John's back in large circles pulling him closer as if he wanted to absorb John into himself. He lifted John from the floor and then staggered backward until he fell onto the bare mattress. The sun was just setting and the shadows of evening gave the room a golden glow. Grains of dust floated through the air making halos around their faces. How could one express in a moment, in an hour, feelings that went through the core of a person's heart. Sherlock and John lay locked in each other's arms their legs tangled on the sheet-less bed.

Sherlock rolled over, looking down on John his face filled with love and heartbreak. His hair was glowing, and his eyes were warm and dark. John reached up pulling him down as he tenderly kissed Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock closed his eyes and covered John's mouth with his own. John could feel tears falling on his cheeks. They rolled into the corner of his mouth so that Sherlock's kisses tasted of salt.

Time passed by as they lay together in a world of their own. The glow of the streetlights the only illumination in the darkened room. They held on as hours passed by in the outside world. John's eyes began to close as exhaustion led him toward sleep. Sherlock kissed the side of John's neck beside the ear, and then he tapped on John's ear lobe. Half asleep, John concentrated on the message L.O. He must have slept through the beginning of the message. It was surely HELLO. More letters V.E.Y . John opened his eyes O.U. J It didn't make sense?

HELLO VEY OUJ

But then again maybe he didn't mean hello. What was the first letter he remembered.

L.O.

More letters: O. H. N. John spelled the letters out in his mind again,

**L.O.V.E. Y.O.U. J.O.H.N.**

and then he turned and gave Sherlock a deep, long kiss.

 


	15. A New Life

The small but tasteful flat was full of boxes, some open, some not. Mary stood on a sturdy dinette chair hanging a black and white photograph of a sailor from world war two kissing a nurse. The doorbell rang.

"Come in," Mary called.

John walked into the apartment and Mary turned to beam at him, "John, you needn't have rung the bell, you have a key. John walked into the room tossing his coat onto the back of the cream sofa before reaching out to place his hands around Mary's waist.

"Come down," he said. Mary placed her hands on his shoulders and he lifted her. His muscles bunching tightly as held her, slowly lowering her down until they stood chest to chest. Her soft lips turned up at the edges to form a smile.

"You should let me do things like that," he said looking down into her warm brown eyes, "I like to be handy."

"So," Mary said her arms wrapping around the back of his neck, "you're saying that from now on you'll be my ... handyman."

John laughed, "why is it that it sounds so dirty when you say it?"

"That's because you've learned how to read my mind, John Watson," Mary said leaning forward to kiss him. They parted and she reached down to pick up her next picture, a black and white photograph of a bridge. John stood on the chair helping her fill the wall until Mary was satisfied. Then he stepped down and placed his hands around her waist again, lifting her over his head and lowering her slowly down. Her body rubbing against his as he kissed the beautiful pale lashes of her half-closed eyes.

He lifted his hand to her head releasing the clamp that held up her hair so that it cascaded down her back like a long, thick river of gold. She fell back as he wrapped his arms around her waist causing her hair to wave behind her like a flag as he reached under her knees to lift her into his arms. John carried her to the couch, hastily kicking aside books as he lay her down on it.

"Hey John, I just stacked those!" she said as he crawled up over her, snaking a hand under her blouse to cup her breasts.

"Damn the books!" John said and he covered her face with kisses. He breathed in her scent, his parted lips resting on the perfect oval smoothness of her chin. Then his phone buzzed, "and damn this phone," he said pulling it out of his pocket and glancing at the text. He stiffened.

"John," Mary said, her hand against his chest, "what is it?"

John sat up on the couch and Mary sat beside him, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Let me see."

He tilted the phone and she read it.

**[Lestrade has new case. Come at once. -SH]**

"Oh, so you need to go," she said, "no tragedy. I'll be here when you get back."

"I'm not going," John said.

Mary sat back, a puzzled expression on her face, "whyever not?"

John pushed himself up off of the couch and strode across the room, "Sherlock is going to have to get used to solving cases without me now. I have my work, and I'm going to look into getting that practice that we talked about. I don't have time to run around London anymore, chasing through the streets like children."

Mary walked over and placed a hand across his back to rest on his shoulder as she looked at his face, His brows compressed, his lips held tight in a flat line. "Don't you want to help Sherlock?" she asked.

"He'll do fine on his own," John said abruptly sitting down on the wooden chair.

"But John," she said, "You told me that you loved solving cases with Sherlock."

"What kind of life is that?" John said turning his face to look at her, "What kind of life would it be for you if I ran off at a moment's notice every time he called me. And if one day we had children. How could I leave you to take care of them alone. How could I go off and risk my life? I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't belittle you... betray you like that." John ran his hand across his eyes before dropping it on his lap.

"John," Mary asked, "are you trying to insult me?"

He looked surprised. "Insult you, how?"

"By implying that I am unable to take care of children on my own. You do know my profession don't you. Are you calling me incompetent?"

"What? No," John said jerking up to sit a bit straighter, "I just...you know...the danger?"

"I always knew that you were a soldier. What you do with Sherlock is no different than going off on a dangerous mission. I knew, when we first started dating, that you had another life, a more dangerous life, that was as much a part of you as my hand is a part of me. Expecting you to give that all up to live with me would be like maiming you. It's a part of who you are."

"But Mary." John said, "What about Sherlock?"

"What about him?" Mary asked.

"He loves me," John said with a slight shudder before shifting his eyes to look away from her.

Mary examined his face. A slow blush was climbing up his neck. She wrapped her arm tighter around him "And do you love him?" she asked.

John looked at his hands. Did he love Sherlock?

There were different forms of love he knew: The love of mankind. The close bonds of friendship. The passion of lovers. God knew that John didn't always like Sherlock, he could be a real prat sometimes, but despite what Sherlock said of himself, he tried to work for good.

And John admired him, not just for his skill, but also for his heart. When he had dragged Henry Knight over to look at the dog that he had imagined a monster, he was being compassionate. Giving him a handle to fight his fears, like showing a child that the giant that had caused his nightmares was only a shadow cast against the wall.

And John loved him as a friend. In fact, Sherlock was his best friend. It softened John's heart when he thought of the warmth of the smile that Sherlock kept just for him. "I don't have friends," he had said that day, "I just have one," and John had needed to walk away, because although he knew that it was just a hedge that Sherlock had thought of afterward to cover his rude words of the night before, it had made John blush, and he couldn't let Sherlock see that. No, it would not have done at all.

As for the passion of lovers, and John realized now that this is what he had truly been running away from, he did desire Sherlock as a lover. The fact was that no sexual experience that John had ever had could compare with sex with Sherlock. It wasn't that he was more skilled. Hell, he didn't even know how to kiss that first night. It wasn't even that he was particularly attractive, although now the sight of Sherlock's trousers pinching over his bottom as he got excited over a new case was enough to get John hard. It was something like alchemy. Somehow, the way that Sherlock's emotions, that he held so tightly, bubbled up out of him. The way that John could release them, after all those years of keeping them pent up, gave John a joy that he had never suspected possible. Sherlock was such a sad man in many ways. You could read on his face and in his body language the decades of abuse and hate that he had endured because of his genius, and when it fell away. When he was only the man, the child, happy in the pleasure of the moment. Happy with the feel of John's body against his own. It made John feel like a god. Truly, there was no greater pleasure.

John noticed that he was smiling. He looked up into Mary's eyes knowing that he had come to that moment. The moment where all of his relationships before had ended. The moment where he admitted that his loyalty to Sherlock was greater than his desire for life itself.

He looked at Mary's perfect face and his eyes watered as he said with a shaky voice, "Yes, I love him. I love Sherlock Holmes very much."

"I see," Mary said, "That's good."

"What?" John said, "Aren't you mad? Aren't you going to slap me or storm off in a huff?"

"Why on Earth would I do that?" Mary asked.

"Well..." should he admit the number of times that he had had drinks thrown on him or pillows tossed in his face when his girlfriends realized that a text from Sherlock was more important to him than they were. Instead he asked, "What do you mean good?"

Mary tilted her head and looked down at him in that way that she reserved for particularly adorable but wayward children. "People all over the world spend their lives working jobs that they hate, working around people that they don't like. People who don't care if they live or die. If you are going to be risking your life to save people in trouble, I want you to be with people who love you. People who will risk their life to save yours.

"Love isn't a zero-sum game. We aren't born with a fixed amount that we have to portion out. If that were true how could anyone have children? It's like you get more love all the time. Don't be embarrassed because you love someone. It's a good thing, love. I'm glad that you love him. I love him too...in my way. I never told you, but I really like Sherlock. I think that he's funny."

"Funny? Really?" John said with a chuckle, "I wonder what he'd say about that?"

"But the thing that I think I like best about him," Mary continued, "is that he loves you so much. Most of the time, he's in some lofty place I don't understand, but the fact that he loves you. This is something that I can understand completely."

A gentle smile crept across John's face. He stood, pulled Mary to him, and kissed her. The phone beeped again.

**[You can kiss later. Hurry up! -SH]**

John laughed and showed the message to Mary who also laughed. "See, I told you...funny!" She said.

John walked over to pick up his coat from the back of the couch. Mary helped him put it on, walking around in front of him to pull it straight as he fastened it. She turned toward the door ready to open it for him but he caught her hand and turned her toward him.

"Mary, I have to be honest with you. There's a reason that I'm avoiding Sherlock. When I came... when I left the flat the last time. It was the hardest thing that I have ever done. Harder than Afghanistan. Standing here with you, I remember what I want for my life. The plans that we have made, but when I'm with him. I forget everything. I forget everything but him.

"If he were to ask me. I'm sorry Mary, but I don't think that I'd say no. I don't think... that I can promise to always be faithful to you." John dropped his head.

Mary lifted John's chin and looked into his eyes. "You love him. It's fine. It's all fine."

John grabbed Mary and pulled her into a kiss. Then he grinned and walked toward the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob, and turned toward her "Mary", he said, "when I come back, I think that I'm going to ask you to Marry me."

Mary held her hands together, a gentle smile growing larger on her face. "When you ask me," she said, "I'm going to say 'yes'."

The phone buzzed again.

**[Too slow. Meet me at Scotland Yard - SH]**

Then John opened the door and rushed off to meet Sherlock and a new life.

 

 

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Now many people may wonder about a romance which ends with one of the lovers marrying a different person. Where is the happy ending in that? They say. Love is between two people and anyone else is a third wheel. But in the romance between Sherlock and John there was already another member in the affair and that was Sherlock's work.
> 
> When a crime happens, Sherlock is in the grips of a fresh love affair. He is giddy as a school boy and he thinks about the crime constantly. When it is over, he is as depressed as someone whose lover has dumped him.
> 
> John knows Sherlock well enough to know that he is secondary to Sherlock's first love, detective work. It was this first love which attracted John to him in the first place. John knows that he will always be left behind. He could be angry and insist that Sherlock choose between detective work and him, but he would be a fool to do so. He would only end up hurting Sherlock.
> 
> John is an intelligent and talented man. It is only in comparison to Sherlock Holmes that he seems ordinary. By marrying Mary, John gets a little place to grow his ego and self-confidence. To make sure of his own mental health. And in the end, if John is happy, he can make Sherlock happy too.
> 
> In the stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, some stories occurred when Watson was single, and some when he was married. But married or single, the friendship between John and Sherlock never wavered, and it continued to the end of their days.
> 
> -AN


End file.
